


&. —— ❝ nomadic ! ❞

by secondsapart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Hydra Steve Rogers, Nick Fury's Daughter, religious character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 13:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondsapart/pseuds/secondsapart
Summary: Anabelle Weber is just a Records Administrator working in the Triskelion of SHIELD to the average agent. But to others who know her secret, she is a much more valuable ally and ASSET to enemies.This is a remastered version of some trash I wrote back in 2014 from an adapted RP thread.I put out chapters in batches, so just be patient when it comes to updates!





	1. &. —— ❝ preface ! ❞

Nearly seventy years post the infamous loss of a nation’s hero, HYDRA, an enemy force behind its cause, uncovered an eerily familiar aircraft that appeared to have been frozen in the Atlantic since it’s crash in the 1940s. 

With this, a search of sorts had been concluded, as Captain America was found an icicle in the wreckage; proving the validity of assumption. Post defrosting process, comatic state, and various lab testing, HYDRA turns to Steve Rogers, the missing hero, for subjection to testing and manipulation used  _ only _ previously on Soviet Winter Soldier of which his reality is a secret still kept. 

Despite the intense use of chemical and electric conditioning, along with medical procedures, torture, and mental manipulation through neglect and abuse, the captain simply would not break in the same way as other; rather he became a _self-aware_ _psychopath_ as a result, manipulated through ideas planted in his head. 

Upon confidence in their new subject, HYDRA reintroduced Captain America to the world, staging his return to SHIELD through their pre-established position beneath the organization’s nose. Contrary to the previous hero, the captain’s personality was altered and his charm and honesty were converted to blatant opinions and short-tempered frustration; despite his knowledge of the past, but as a result of the mental state. 

  
Not even fellow agents were aware of the newly manipulated Rogers, with the exception of Jack Rollins and Brock Rumlow who were put in the position to monitor and protect the identity of the soldier. Missions and objectives begin to cater to undercover ideals, no one would suspect America’s sweetheart, but with a simply put psychopath leading the country’s “defense” question is  _ inevitable _ .


	2. &. —— ❝ break ! ❞

** _WASHINGTON DC. APRIL, 2014_ **

The woman started the day with her normal routine, _despite being on paid vacation._

She went for her morning walk with her daughter, as she pushed the grey stroller, listening to the gentle humming of her toddler which caused a smile to split her face. She was absolutely **beautiful**. Her bright blue eyes that her father had passed to her beamed as her little fingers curled into her coiled brown hair.

_ <strike>If only the girl’s father was alive to see her.</strike> _

As the woman walked down the busy main street to the coffee shop across for her usual soy mocha latte, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy, as if she were being 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃. Her hazel eyes scanned her surroundings but found nothing out of the ordinary.

Perhaps, she was just being paranoid, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was 𝐎𝐅𝐅— as if she was being _watched_. **_(_** Like father, like daughter. **_)_** The chill that had made its way up her spine had set into the back of her neck, spreading through her almond-colored skin and she couldn’t help but **shudder**.

“Mommy, I wanna see Grandpa!” Her two-year-old daughter whined as she thrashed in the stroller trying to turn her head to look at her mother.

“Alright sweetheart,” She answered after a moment, gathering her thoughts as she made her way out of the coffee shop and headed back to her apartment to grab the car seat.

After loading up the car, and securing her toddler in the car seat, she made a beeline to the Triskelion, having _surprising_ ease with traffic. She greeted the agents that she had become acquainted with and had the occasional employee staring at her and her little girl on her way up to the Director’s office.

“Oh, look at that! Mini Weber!” One of the agents chuckled as she passed through the lobby. “Man, I almost forgot that Weber had a kid! Look how big she got!” Another agent replied to him, before waving at her, “G’morning, Anabelle.”

“Good morning.” She nodded, with a smile, Grace replying a gentle ‘hi’ as well.

If you eliminate the factor that SHIELD was an _intelligence_ agency, you’d think that it was just another run-of-the-mill business.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 had a knack for gossip and had it not been for her _pristine_ record with monogamous relationships, Anabelle would very well be on the radar for the next hot topic.

* * *

“Good morning, Director Fury,” she addresses, formally, as she walks into his office, promptly shutting the door behind her to prevent other wandering agents from eavesdropping.

Anabelle crosses the room to hand her father a box of glazed donuts holes that she’d hidden in her stroller— a peace offering for their previous heated discussion that took place three days prior in the presence of Agent Hill— before settling the stroller next to his desk, “How’re you doing?”

“Grandpa!” Her daughter chirped as she reached for her grandfather, secured in her stroller. “Hey ladybug!” he smiles briefly, before flipping the box open with one hand, the other holding the toddler’s.

“Why’d you bring her?” he says, popping the sweet pastry in his mouth.

“Well, I was going to drop her off at Jillian’s house for the weekend to catch up on some paperwork, and it seemed a little trivial to call someone to babysit for me at this hour.”

“You’re on _administrative_ _leave_; there’s no paperwork for you to do,” Fury cleared his throat before projecting his voice towards his AI, “Secure Office.” Without missing a beat, the windows had tinted heavily, causing the office to become dark and the lights automatically turned on. “But, since you’re here, I’m assuming you got my message regarding your late husband.”

“Yeah, I did. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Several encrypted files have been surfacing, recently. There’s no trace of their origin in the mainframe, the database— the _works_.”

“Files,” Anabelle trails momentarily in thought before following up with, “Files regarding _whom_?” She had an inkling of who he was referring to, though she did not want to jump to conclusions.

“Jacob Anderson— among _others_.” Nick plucked up yet another donut hole, savoring the flavor. He didn’t want to admit it, but the slight irritation he felt with her was fading as she’d sated his sweet tooth.

“Anderson—?” Relief had washed over her face, thankful that her late husband was not under SHIELD’s radar as a former security risk, but only for a moment before it was replaced with confusion. “Wait, what are you saying; he’s a threat? How?”

“Anabelle, I need you to listen carefully because this could affect SHIELD’s integrity— as well as 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒. I’ve had Agent Romanoff look into Anderson’s background and there’s a _substantial_ amount of 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 we haven’t seen before.” Nick crossed his arms, fixating his gaze on his granddaughter for a moment. He was considering how to deliver the news that she would have to relocate for her own protection as there was information being uncovered regarding her compromise. Only a handful of agents **_( _**specifically Hill, Romanoff, Agent Black and Captain Rogers, though he had only come to know of her parentage through a strange circumstance **_)_** had known that Anabelle was his daughter and he could not afford to have her used as leverage against him. Hell, the day he found out that she joined SHIELD escalated a fight between the two and he put in an order to falsify her records to protect her identity.

“Who are the others?” A moment of hesitation delays her question and she looks up at her father grimly, willing herself to focus her gaze, though, as she’d expected, he directed the conversation back towards Agent Anderson. This was a 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 occurrence when he did not want to reveal secrets.

“It is unclear whether or not Agent Anderson is a threat, however, we will treat him as such until this is resolved.” He stands and loads up several files on his computer screen that have Anabelle’s identification photo on them. 

“What the hell is _that_?” She raises her brow at the sight before her, already knowing where this was going.

“Your relocation itinerary.”

Too much information was flying at her all at once to process and Anabelle blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend how this all came to be. 

“Mommy, look at my butterfly!” Grace interrupted, making fluttering motions with her hands, as her underdeveloped mind had held no comprehension of the situation that her elders were discussing. 

“That’s nice, sweetie,” Anabelle, mutters, halfheartedly, switching her attention back to her father, “Dad, is this all really necessary?”

“I’m not willing to expose your relation to me nor compromise the both of us, and I don’t trust anyone enough to look after you and my 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑, so _yes_, it **_is_** necessary.”

“Aside from Stark, only Agents Hill, and Romanoff as well as Captain Rogers know that I’m your daughter,” Anabelle crosses her arms over her chest, defensively. Nick muses at the sight of her, only for a moment. He could now see the idle comparisons between father and daughter that Romanoff had made and it made his pride swell only slightly.

“That is where you are mistaken,” His reply is dry as is his tone and he continues to elaborate as Anabelle’s expression becomes one of confusion, “Agent Romanoff brought to my attention that there were unauthorized files on Anderson’s CPU; we found your ex-husband’s service record, your marriage certificate and half a dozen falsified weapons checkout forms.” 

She had no words to reply to the news that had just been delivered— 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 had she suspected 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 being responsible for her husband’s death, though it did make sense now that she ponders on it. Stricken by the realization of her covers being compromised, she could only take a deep breath. After a few moments, she sighed, bringing a hand to head, combing her fingers through her hair, “Dad, you don’t really think that he had something to do with—?”

“As I have said, we do not know for certain, and until then he is a security risk to SHIELD. Now with that being said, I am going to need for you to 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 me. In your office, there will be a briefcase secured under your desk. The combination is **0224**. Once you retrieve the case, go to Level 3 Parking. An armored SUV with the license plate _G32-2014_ will be unlocked for you. I will have STRIKE Team Echo waiting for your arrival at the safehouse checkpoint in 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐀. Is that in any way unclear?”

“No, sir— your orders are understood.” She couldn’t stop herself from looking down at her feet to avoid his intimidating gaze.

“Good. You’re dismissed.” Nick plucks up another donut hole as he turned the screen of his computer off to avert prying eyes when he lifted the security.

“Grace, say bye-bye,” Anabelle grabbed the handles of her daughter’s stroller and made her way towards the office door, internally fighting the lump that rested in her throat. 

“Bye, Papa!” Grace waves her hands before her mother pushes her out of the room. 

* * *

Just as Nick said, there was a briefcase under her desk locked with an electronic combination and a scanner for her thumbprint. She gathered what she needed out of her office and locked the door, taping a sign on the mahogany next to her name plaque. 

3212 OFFICE  
RECORDS ADMIN  
A. WEBER 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄  
  
She made her way down the corridor, listening to her daughter hum again, moving towards the elevators, awkwardly trying to balance holding the briefcase, while pushing the stroller. Just as she passed an adjacent corridor, a husky voice caught her attention, following hurried footsteps. “Hey, Weber! Didn’t know you were back.” 

She turned her head upon hearing her surname, slowing her pace to see the rugged, but handsome features of the STRIKE Commander Rumlow, and she couldn’t resist the smile that perked the corners of her mouth. 

“Cute kid,” He smirked looking at Grace before averting his attention back to her.

He was a close acquaintance to her, though she hadn’t known him long enough to be friends. Brock had made frequent visits to Records, although, she assumed the purpose was strictly business. But it seemed that when she was working, she saw him at 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 four days out of the week. 

“Oh, I’m not back, but thank you.” She couldn’t help but allow her smile to stretch a bit wider. 

Before he could reply, his phone alert had gone off and he glanced down at his smart-watch to see what the message was. 

_⌫ Lavrov 14:03_  
Today 14:02  
𝐏𝟐 - 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓  
𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘

“Ah, duty calls,” he sighs, “Hey, take care of yourself, yeah?” He wets his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, and starts heading in the opposite direction she’s in. 

“Okay, See you around.” she replies, stepping towards closer towards the elevator before pressing the ‘down’ button. When the elevator doors had finally opened, she inwardly cringed at the sight of the person before her and it did her no justice as her daughter squealed at the sight of him.

“Mr. Stevie!” Grace chirped as she outstretched her arms. Had she not been secured in the stroller, she would have bolted to hug his leg.  


“Hey, Gracie,” he smiled gently before meeting Anabelle’s uncomfortable gaze and simply nodding, “Agent Weber.”  


Frankly, he was 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 person she wanted to see, given their last conversation ended with high tension. “Level three Parking.” her voice is commanding as she expresses which floor she wants the system to take her, “Good afternoon, Captain,” the words are muttered out courtesy, though there was vexation in her voice and she cast her gaze away from him, trying to focus on the world beyond the glass. 

She’d never seen him wearing his stealth suit before and despite still being 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 over their argument, she had to admit, he looked 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃in it. Before the lustful thought could fester, she shakes her head in an attempt to diminish it. 

_Father, please forgive me for harboring lustful thoughts, in Jesus’ name, I pray, Amen._

“Didn’t know it was ‘bring your kid to work day’— hey kiddo,” The super soldier tilted his head to the side, waving at the girl curiously as he fixed his gaze on her daughter. She was the spitting image of her mother, and he noticed how her cerulean eyes gleamed, very much like her mother’s did when he’d first met her. 

_He’d never forget that night as it was also the night the girl was **born**._

“It isn’t.” she spoke with a low voice, keeping her head down to avoid his gaze. 

“Well all of H.Q. is talking, now.” A smirk crossed his features more as a means to push her buttons, not out of malicious intent, but a friendly banter.

“Are you going to keep 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 me?”

“Relax,” he chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood, though her hardened gaze diminished his demeanor, “What’s _with_ you, Weber?”

“Mommy, look! Mr. Stevie has a star!” Grace, interrupted once again, pointing at Steve’s chest with wonder. 

Her eyes fluttered with mild vexation towards her daughter’s interjection in the conversation but she still mustered a half-hearted reply, “I know, honey,” she smiles, briefly before following up his question, hazel eyes finally meeting his steeled cerulean gaze, “You filed _six_ weapons checkout logs incorrectly in the last two months, Steve,” she growled, clenching her teeth. 

“Didn’t know it was a big deal,” Steve shrugs in reply, leaning against the glass of the structure, keeping his eyes locked on her face, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 her to break her gaze. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be cut with a knife and she refrained from raising a hand to smack the smug look off of his face. “I thought you were on leave?” He breaks the silence first, becoming agitated with hers as he lost at his own game. 

“I _am_.” His question was not answered without hesitation, her emerald gaze still challenging him defiantly. 

“Then why are you here?” he challenged back, seeing how far he could push her. She can feel him shift closer to her to invade her personal space and his breath hits her face when he speaks.

“Why do you 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄?” there is venom in her tone, though her voice is low as to not startle her daughter. She never raised her voice in front of Grace and she wasn’t about to do that today. 

“I _don’t_.” He cocks a brow, letting his gaze lower from her eyes to her nose, and before it could reach her glossed lips, the elevator came to a stop with a **_(_** ding _! **)**_ and the computerized voice to follow— **_(_** level three parking - arrived. **_)_** —and she blinked a few times, before darting out of the elevator with a brisk pace, not caring about the difficulty of holding a briefcase and pushing a stroller simultaneously. 

“Ana, wait, I was just—” he started to go after her feeling the sudden need to apologize, but he didn’t want to draw any attention as the corridor was littered with other agents. When the elevator doors closed, he couldn’t stop the heavy sigh that escaped his mouth. 

**_(_** Destination, Captain Rogers _? **)**_

“Level two Parking,” he replied, curtly as he rubbed his temples with agitation. He remembered when there was a time that they both had a _trusting_ relationship— even if it were just 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 and he found himself reminiscing on their very first encounter. But those were just 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. He couldn’t afford anyone to know about his infatuation with her. He needed to focus on his mission, and that mission was 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑.


	3. &. —— ❝ dead memories ! ❞ (part one.)

** _MANHATTAN - NOVEMBER 2012_ **

𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐘 dressing himself for Stark’s Annual Gala just a few months after the destruction of New York City courtesy of Thor’s **_(_** adopted _!_ _**)**_ brother, Loki, although, he didn’t quite understand _why_ he was being invited to a formal event like this— it had no bearing to the Avengers, it was just another pretentious front to stroke his comrade’s 𝐄𝐆𝐎. The Captain decided to a white tux coat, the irony not lost on him— the absence of color itself symbolized purity and that is 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 what everyone thought America’s symbol was— the protector of the weak; the man with a heart of 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃. His choice in attire would catch the attention of many— 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓 was held in his mind about that. Not that he _cared_. If he were being honest, Steve was more enthusiastic about an _assassination_ that was to take place at the event— he would have given his own left arm to pull the trigger. Unfortunately, he was supposed to pose as a decoy and in his place, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐓 would terminate the target. 

He turned his mind from his disappointment nonetheless. He had to do what was needed to upkeep his cover— extracting as much information from SHIELD’s objective’s as possible— now 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐘 had been given the _full control _of running the organization, he was instructed to find an angle to strike and this task did not come without difficulty. Hardly 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 went over Nicholas Fury’s head as he was considered 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐘. Or so Steve had thought.

* * *

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 thing that caught his eye tonight; the first was the _ridiculously_ over-sized crystal chandelier that hovered overhead as he strolled into the lobby of the hotel that Tony was hosting his event. Steve scanned the room, eyes calculating every guest’s move— he was hoping to find the target among the hundreds of guests who turned their eyes towards him as he took one step after another but instead he saw 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

The light caught her hazel eyes similar to how 𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐒 would shimmer and her darker complexion had a glow to it that seemed more radiant than most of the women in the room. Then he caught sight of her distorted proportions beneath her violet gown as she clutched her belly gently, her vibrant white smile beaming with untainted joy. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be a complete bust after all— Even if she was knocked up.

_Get it together Rogers._

𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐒, baritone in their nature had filled the air, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “Hey, Capsicle!” He turned his head toward the source, but he did not find the face that matched the voice. When he turned back towards the location of where the woman had been standing, it were as if she had vanished.

_The hell?_

“Hey, Rogers!” The same voice called out again. This time, it sounded closer and Steve turned once more only to be greeted by Tony Stark himself, with Pepper at his side. 

“Hey, Tony.” Steve returned the gesture with a small smile, “Hello, Ms. Potts.” 

“Didn’t think you’d show up— glad you did though,” Tony took a sip of his martini, “Where’s your date?”

“Didn’t bring one,” Steve exhales slightly annoyed as Natasha had already been hounding him about his personal life.

“Aw, come on— _Really_?” Tony feigned sarcasm and the smile on his face grew, “Well, who knows, you might just find a girl, better yet, Pepper, who was that woman you were talking about? She’s the _new initiate_ for SHIELD— five-foot-one, big green eyes—— ugh, She’s Tom’s ex-wife,” He snaps his fingers three times in a feeble attempt to remember her name, “Angela? No, that’s not it. She’s Fury’s d————𝐎𝐖!” He reacted quickly as Pepper had driven the heel of her stiletto into his big toe, silently reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to be blabbing about the fact that Nicholas Fury had a _daughter_.

Steve’s eyes snapped towards Tony, interest piqued— judging from the interaction, he knew something about Fury that he was not supposed to spill.

“She was initiated _ten months ago_, but if you insist to know, her name is—” Before Pepper could finish her sentence, the woman in question had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, coming closer into their vicinity. 

“Anabelle!” Pepper called, waving gently before beckoning her acquaintance to their group. 

Anabelle stepped carefully, as her swollen belly had prevented her from moving as quickly as she wanted to— she waved her hand at them, with a dazzling smile painting her features.

“Look alive, Rogers— target’s just entered the lobby. From the looks of it, he’s been _pregaming_.” Brock’s voice had been clear as day through the device embedded in his ear. Steve only nods in response, knowing that his silence would be considered affirmation to his statement.  


“Hi, Pepper, Tony— good to see you’re doing better,” Anabelle greeted before her gaze met with Steve’s, “Captain, It is an honor to meet you in person.”

“Ma’am,” Steve nods, and Pepper takes the initiative to finish the introduction.

“Good _God_, you’re 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓,” Tony exclaims in surprise, now feeling a sense of pity for the woman. He knew of her ex-husband’s indiscretions as he had promoted them. Normally he’d rationalize that she was sleeping around herself during the tail end of their marriage, however knowing that she was the religious type that couldn’t even say 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 without praying for forgiveness, he assumed otherwise.  


“Oh,” She was taken aback by Tony’s surprise, suddenly fearing that her ex-husband’s former employer would let him know of this news, “I really hope that you don’t tell Tom I kept it. I don’t want any more drama than there already is.”  


“Ana, I assure you, my lips are sealed,” He gave a curt nod. 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 was a weak term for what their marriage was; he’s seen her a few times, sporting a black eye, _poorly_ covered with makeup and her empty excuses regarding her split lip when she came to visit him with lunch on days after Tom had been drinking. There were many times that both Pepper and Tony had offered her help, but she kindly refused, afraid of what Tom would do to her if she left him. The woman was 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘 afraid of him. “Now, I can get you state-of-the-art technology to keep your baby safe, hell, I’ll even make a suit for him when he’s old enough to wear it.  


Laughter naturally bubbled out of Anabelle as she clutched her enlarged belly before she replied with a gentle voice, “_She_.”

“Well, _she_ can _still_ wear the suit,” Tony chortled, grinning widely, “Is _Hello Kitty _still a thing?” Pepper beamed upon hearing the gender of the baby and she also was glad to see the woman was doing much better. Her husband may have been one of Tony’s many lawyers, however, neither of them condoned the violence that he’d subjected her to.

Steve cleared his throat as the group chattered, causing them to stop conversing momentarily. “Oh, Rogers why don’t you tell Anabelle about the thing— with the thing.” Tony gestured with his hands, hoping that the captain would catch on to his attempt at being a 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐀𝐍.

_He didn’t._

“We’ll be right back, Steve did you want something to drink?“ Pepper offered as she caught onto what Tony was doing—— and she was certainly 𝐍𝐎𝐓 amused.

“No, thank you.” He smiled politely, before fixing his gaze back towards Anabelle.

“Right. Excuse us,” Pepper nodded before whisking Tony away to reprimand him for forcing the man into a conversation with her.

“Again, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He nods, with a sideways smile, offering his hand to hers as a formality. She offers her left hand to his in return as her other still clutched her stomach. 

Rogers takes notice of the wedding band and wonders if she keeps it on only for the _sentiment_. 

“So, how do you know Pepper and Tony?” Steve spoke after another moment, realizing that her hand is still clasped in his. He did not want to end the physical contact just yet, so he took the initiative to guide the woman out of the center of the busy hall off to the side where the guests were scarce to continue their conversation— from this vantage point, it would be much easier to spot the target, too.

He runs his thumb over her soft knuckles absently and his pupils dilate as he examines her features now that he is in the closest proximity of her. 

“Well, my.. ex-husband, Tommy used to be one of Tony’s lawyers until he switched to being a criminal prosecutor a few years back.” Steve doesn’t miss the way she hesitates just before stating that she had a husband. 

_She must’ve been really hurt by him._

“—Oh.” he feels his smile drop but a fraction, trying to read her expression.

Once they find themselves away from most of the guests in a seating area, Steve gestures for Anabelle to sit down, helping her settle into the scarlet Corinthian leather of the sofa. 

“You got it?” He breathes gently as his hand comes into contact with the bare skin of her back and his touch but lingers, savoring the warmth of her. 

“Yes, thank you.” He is seated next to her after she is comfortable and he lets go of her hand, though he wishes to touch her once again. “Tom and I aren’t exactly on _speaking_ terms.” She admitted and a hint of sadness laced her voice, “But it’s fine.”

“So, uh, how far along are you?” Steve gestures towards her protruding abdomen, hoping the subject change wasn't _too_ abrupt though unbeknownst to him, she welcomed it. 

Even though his personality had been altered, nothing could _truly_ change his social skills with women. 

“I’m due in about two weeks.“ She was relieved with the change of the subject as she was not ready to talk about her ex-husband yet—— certainly not with the _legendary hero._

“ Is it alright if I—?” Steve gestured towards her belly, holding his hand out steadily. His ocean hued eyes silently completed his question as he locked his gaze onto hers, his secondary directive, though not intentional was to read her expression for discomfort— seeing how her face would contort if she were to lie. 

_She truly didn’t mind. _

“Of course, go ahead.” Her smile is soft but wide and her radiant smile accentuated the features of her cheekbones. Steve hesitantly extended his hands towards her abdomen sighing as his wish had been granted, feeling the warmth of her stomach radiating through her evening gown.

He laughed nervously just when the fetus kicked against his palm, causing his eyes to ignite with wonder. ” I think she just kicked!” Steve’s smile had become wider and for the first time to his surprise, he felt a sense of joy for something that was 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 of killing: _a growing life. _

”She’s gonna be in soccer, I just know it,“ Anabelle mused, thoughtlessly, resting her hands on his own. 

He did not move his hands when she touched him, but he did look into her eyes, finding himself getting lost in the rich hues of brown and green as her voice drowned out. The pull between them was undeniable and it was only the calling of her 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 from a _bellowing_ voice that broke his gaze from hers. 

_Oh, no. Not **him**._

“Anabelle!” The same voice emitted in the form of a song before stumbling footsteps drew closer, “Ah, _there_ you are,” A strong, masculine voice with just a hint of _Philadelphia_ had emitted from in front of them and Anabelle gasped sharply, as her eyes met his sharp gaze. Steve on the other hand, had recognized this man— a low clearance SHIELD operative at best— whom had been sniffing around just a little _too_ much and got himself on HYDRA’s radar. _Target acquired._

The woman was 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 from the sudden intrusion, afraid of what he’d do, regardless of whether or not they were in public. She could tell that he was drunk by his stance and the glaze over his blue eyes. 

“What in _heaven’s name_ are you _doing_ here?” Her voice is shaky as she mustered the courage to speak.

Steve catches the choice of words, darting his eyes back to her face and the silver cross dangling from around her neck caught his attention. 

“I was— **HIC** _!_ —invited,” He slurred, a hiccup interjecting between his words, “Why’d you leave me, Annie— I want you back.” He knelt down in front of her unceremoniously before leaning in. The alcohol on his breath reeked, causing her to inwardly retch and move back out of reflex.

“I left you because you slept with another woman in our bed! You defiled our vows and you kept doing it, even after I told you I was pregnant with _our_ baby!” Her voice carried hurt and she was quick to push him away from her, unintentionally knocking him off balance.

_This was going to be easier than expected._

Steve was originally supposed to just do something to spark the man’s temper and get into a physical altercation; the STRIKE agents had posed as security, taking the place of the men that Tony had originally hired. Just after they acquired the man, he was to be killed by the winter soldier himself, but the man before him was squawking about whatever life it was that he’d built with the woman that he was beginning to become acquainted with. 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂.

“I assume this is your ex-husband,“ Steve stood, straightening his tux jacket and readying himself to fight the man if need be. 

“Hey, you’re _Captain_ _America_,” Tom smiled drunkenly, before his expression dropped, looking towards Anabelle before his gaze finally fixated on her swollen belly. “Wait, did— did you fuck my _wife_?" 

Anabelle was bewildered by the accusation and as Tom became more upset at the idea of America’s sweetheart ‘stealing’ away his bride, his voice elevated several octaves, drawing attention from the other guests— and Tony. 

“𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 _!_” the drunken man roared as he rose to his feet, nearly toppling over. 

Anabelle made haste to move away but he caught her arm, pulling her up to stand with him as he rose his right fist to strike her. She instinctively flinches, bracing herself for the impact of his solid fist and Steve reacts swiftly, locking the man into a sleeper hold. The way she reacted showed that he’d struck her before, and normally he wouldn’t care but something in him _shouted_ at him to _protect_ her. 

Perhaps it was only because of what he was supposed to do for the sake of the mission.

“How ‘bout you pick on somebody your _own_ size?” Steve growled into Tom’s ear, low enough so that only he could hear. Tom gasped and choked against his assailant’s hold, struggling to break free but to no avail. He was only released when the two STRIKE agents dressed as security rushed to drag him away. The chatter of onlookers did not know what to make of the spectacle as Steve rushed towards Anabelle the minute Tom was out of sight to see if she was alright.

He could only put together a _fraction_ of what emotional trauma had been brought back for the woman and by the look in her eyes, his thought was confirmed, though it was the words that she’d spoke next that disassembled his theory only by a little. 

“Anabelle, are you okay?” His tone was laced with genuine concern.  


“Steve,“ Anabelle’s eyes never met his as she clutched her stomach, “I think my— I think my water just broke.”

The discolored fabric of the woman’s gown is evidence enough that she was telling the truth. She moans loudly as her hand flies to her stomach, feeling her uterus cramp up and Steve was quick to grab her other hand, instinctively wrapping his other arm around her. “Tony!” Steve calls, spotting both him and Pepper from a distance as they approached the two, all the while a crowd began to gather around as well to see more of the commotion.

“Steve what the hell is— oh _shit,_” he originally intended to question the commotion regarding Anabelle’s estranged husband, but he halts his train of thought as he sees Anabelle nearly doubled over in pain.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters halfheartedly, answering Tony’s follow-up question before he even asked it. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“Twelve miles,” Pepper chimes in, trying to get Anabelle to slow her breathing, “We don’t know how long she’s going to be in labor, and I know for a fact traffic is a nightmare!”

“God, _damn_ it, should we get her an ambulance?” Tony cursed out loud before pulling out his phone to dial for a paramedic, but instead Anabelle shouted at him.

“No! I am not having my baby in a hospital! It’s supposed to be a natural bir— **UGH**!” Anabelle breathed before she nearly shrieked from a sharp contraction.

“Vacant room then— got it.” Tony starts to instead call the hotel concierge’s private phone number.  


Many of the guests had pulled their phones out, focusing their attention on the great _Captain_ _America_ helping a woman in labor, and this 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 him as they rushed towards him asking _irrelevant_ questions.

The man’s altered personality was grieved as he had to remain _cordial_ and collected in the public eye, regardless of how much he wanted to _shoot_ everyone that was currently irritating him.

“Room 3091_?_ Alright, thank you,” Tony confirmed the room with the concierge and nodded before glancing at Steve.

Happy had arrived just in time, clearing a path as he approached with four other security guards. “Alright everyone, break it up! It’s just a pregnant broad, nothing to see here! Get out of the way!”

“Tony, you have to call my doula— and call my dad,” The woman cannot keep up with everyone’s brisk pace, being slowed down by the weight in her belly and her heeled shoes.

“Alright, that’s it, I’m carrying you.” Steve didn’t even give her a moment to protest before he swooped her into his arms, making haste to get her to the elevators. As Tony, Pepper and Happy pooled into the elevator with them, the flashing of cameras became more prevalent as word got out that the Captain was _helping_ her.

“What floor?” Pepper asked, ready to press the button and Tony answered her by pressing the number _three_. “Happy, is the third floor secure?”

“It is,” He exhaled, annoyed at the situation.

“Pepper, can you get my phone out of my clutch? The password is **2611**.”

“Yeah,” Pepper obliges, “Did you want me to put him on speaker?”

Anabelle nods in reply, relaxing against Steve as she hoped another contraction did not come too soon.

“Who’re you calling for her— her doctor?” Steve chimed in, confusion contorting his face as he held Anabelle close to him. His question is answered by the sound of Nick’s voice picking up after the second ring, “Something’s gotta be seriously wrong for you to call me on an unsecured line, Anabelle.”

“Dad, I'm in labor.”  


_Dad?! **OH**, The plot just fuckin’ thickens._


	4. &. —— ❝ solway firth ! ❞

_ **WASHINGTON DC - APRIL 2014** _   


By the time evening struck the city, Anabelle had all but forgotten her father’s instruction and she found the deserted streets of the city quite _eerie_. But she ignored her intuition as the events of the next morning worked their way into prominence of her mind. After she’d dropped her daughter off at her mother-in-law’s house, the overwhelming feeling finally took over. It was all too much. First, her brother, Andrew, then Tom, now _Jake_— all the men that she’d cared about wound up being trouble, some way or another. 

Andrew was spending the rest of his life in prison because he took the fall for a criminal— Tom’s disappearance after she gave birth, and now, all _this_— it simply was just **TOO MUCH.**

Anabelle parked her car behind an old warehouse, knowing that hardly anyone passed through. She checked her surroundings, making sure that she was completely secluded before she went for the briefcase, albeit, her convictions were hesitant. She placed her thumb on the print reader, before punching in the combination— **0424** and the case opened with ease. 

As Anabelle flipped through the itinerary, reviewing her new ID, passport, and home of record, a knock on the window startled her. She gasps, dropping the file in her lap, thankful the pages didn’t scatter. “**GODDAMNIT**.” She curses, flicking her eyes between the person at the window, and the Manila folder. _Father, please forgive me for cursing your name. In Jesus’ name, I pray, Amen._

She rolls down the window and is surprised to see Steve’s face as she expected a police officer instead. He changed out of his stealth suit between the time she’d seen him and now, and he was dressed in a brown leather jacket, black Under Armor shirt and a pair of jeans. She looked at him incredulously, brows knitted together before spitting, “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you said you weren’t working?” He replies, coolly, resting his forearm against the roof of her car, hovering over the opening of the window. 

“What’re you, stalking me now?” She returns the quip, with a half-hearted smile. 

“No.” Well, _yes_, but that was solely for the mission he’d been appointed. 

“Then go away.” She’s still irritated from their previous interaction, but Anabelle had all the intention to be left alone. 

“I just wanted to check on you.” Rogers pushes his weight off of the car as he lowers his form to be at eye-level with her. 

“Why?” She doesn’t look at him as she edges the loose pages neatly within the folder before placing it back into the briefcase before closing it and allowing it to lock automatically. She fails to notice Steve’s curious gaze on the piece of luggage. 

“I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer and when you left HQ, you didn’t sign out, so, here I am.” This catches her attention, and she finally looks at him with her eyebrows furrowed. The sun catches her eyes and the flecks of green enveloped within the rich sky-colored hue shimmer with confusion. 

She was almost **POSITIVE** that she signed out with security, but then, again, with what happened in the elevator being on her mind, anything was possible. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry about that,” she conceded, though still doubtful, “Hey, you want to sit in the car with me? It’s a little cold and—”

“You sure?” A grin splits his face. 

“Yeah, let me just—” Anabelle tosses the case into the back seat hastily before unlocking the passenger door. Steve wastes no time making his way around the hood of her car before opening the door and settling in her passenger seat. A few moments pass as they sit comfortably in silence before she’s the one to break it. 

"Steve, I—“ she hesitates, feeling pride grip her apologetic words from spilling from her lips, though, as if the soldier could read her mind, he interjected. 

"No, Ana, _I’m_ sorry. I was being an ass and honestly, with everything going on with the Lumerian Star, I’ve been kinda stressed. You didn’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you.” He knew she’d be eating from his palm with him confessing fault first, and this would be his leverage against her to lower her guard. 

“Hey, it’s okay, to be fair, I think we both were under a lot of stress.” A smile lifts the corners of her mouth and her posture softens into a more relaxed position. He notices this and takes this as his opportunity to distract her before he incapacitates her. She may have been much smaller than him, however, he’d trained her _himself_, along with Agent Romanoff upon direct orders from her father upon her post-initiation into SHIELD after her daughter was born. He thought it was foolish of Nicholas to drag his own flesh and blood into the organization as this could compromise him, though, he’d made no comment.

This was all valuable intel to pass over to HYDRA and he did. Steve did have to admit that Fury was not the fool that he expected him to be, though, as he did not assign his daughter to covert ops where she could be compromised herself, instead he had placed her in _Records_, like the good father that he was to keep her from harm. He knew that Anabelle was fully capable of pushing paperwork all day, despite her experience in the US Air Force as a combat medic. 

“Ana,” Steve’s voice comes in a soft breath as he attempts to catch her gaze. He’d done as he was ordered; befriend the woman and wait for the perfect opportunity to use her as leverage against the director— Even if it took _years_. And now that Captain Rogers had been shown the agenda of Project Insight by the man himself, he’d received confirmation of his directive: take the woman hostage. 

She remembered the last time he said her name like that and it made her smile stretch just a fraction wider. She remembered the way her lips had melted against his and how warm his hand was against her cheek. Even with her ex-husband, she’d never felt the way that Steve made her feel that night and she could feel herself longing for that same feeling once again. She turned her head to meet his gaze and she’d noticed that his pupils were dilated. 

_Maybe this was meant to be?_

She remembered how she’d pushed him away, as her divorce had not yet been finalized and she couldn’t bear to live with knowing that she’d committed adultery, regardless of her circumstances. Though, she couldn’t shake the guilt of doing that to him, even after a_ year and a half_, she’d always felt bad for the situation. She never forgot his tinted cheeks, flushed from embarrassment _(or so she thought) _and it continued to haunt her to this very day. 

Now, however, it was **_different_**. Her husband had departed from this life, therefore, she was no longer obligated to him. Anabelle’s eyes trailed from his, down the bridge of his nose and in finality, she’d settled her gaze upon his lips and hesitated a moment before flitting her eyes back up.

**_This_** was the signal he was waiting for, and it was more than one reason that drove him. His lips were on hers in an instant and he cradled her jaw in his hand, pulling her closer to him. Her hands were placed on both his shoulder and his the back of his neck as she grazed her nails against his skin. He let a low moan slip from his mouth into hers before he wraps his arm around her waist to lift her and settle her into his lap. His hands now wander from her waist down to her backside giving a gentle squeeze before he trails a hand back up to entangle in her hair. She shivers from the gesture and her body responds as she presses her chest into his, deepening the kiss. 

As the woman is distracted, Steve takes the time to slowly reach into his jacket pocket for the syringe filled with a dose of some sedative that could easily render her unconscious. As he grasped the toxin, she’d moved her lips to his neck, kissing and nibbling at the flesh which distracted him from the task at hand and he’d almost given in to his lust, savoring the feeling for just a moment longer before he decided to take matters into his own hands. She’d sensed the shift in his demeanor and when she pulled back, the expression on his face had turned almost _animalistic_. 

Everything in her had screamed for her to stop as she was just about to commit a sin against the Lord _again_, but she was willing to ask for forgiveness later as finally admitted to herself that she wanted this _just_ _as_ _much_ as he did. 

**Screw it.**

He moved his hand from his pocket, absent the toxin and he moved his hand to her backside once again, taking no pause to squeeze it, much harder this time and he relished in her reaction as a soft moan had slipped from her lips against his neck. There was no time limit for him to return with Anabelle tonight, so he was content in getting his rocks off first. 

He bedded _many_ women since he’d been retrieved from the ice, but in this moment Anabelle was among his _greatest_ conquests. From the night that he met her, he wanted nothing more than to ravage her, regardless if she were pregnant at the time and he’d _succeeded_ at one point after Grace was born— but it only left him wanting **MORE**. 

“I admit, you two are putting on _quite_ a show and I’d like to stay and watch, but you need to wrap it the **FUCK** up.” Rumlow’s voice was hushed through the earpiece. He watched the two through his sniper scope from the vantage point barely 500 yards away from where she parked. 

_Damn you Rumlow, can’t you just let me have **something**?_

“No.” He muttered, loud enough for his comrade to hear, though Anabelle thought that he was rejecting her and he could tell by the way she pulled away from him, and it wasn’t hard to miss the look on her face. He saved the moment, however, by following up with “I wanna do this in the back.” Rumlow snickered, shaking his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I gotta do everything around here.” He doesn’t hesitate as he re-positions his rifle and fixates his cross-hairs onto Anabelle’s back and before he pulls the trigger he mutters, “Gotta admit, the bitch has a nice ass." 

The dart sinks into muscle, missing her spine by two inches and the toxin instantly hits her bloodstream. "Ouch!” She exclaims before she realizes that there’s a hole in her windshield. before she can register what has happened, her vision fades. 

“Steve?” She slurs before she slumps in his arms. 

"God _damn_ you, Rumlow.“


	5. &. —— ❝ nero forte ! ❞

He was surprised when both Rumlow and Rogers walked in through security with Anabelle slung over his shoulder; Rollins was under the impression that Anabelle was to be _killed_, not held for interrogation, but as the opportunity presented itself, he couldn’t turn it down. 

“Either of you wanna babysit her? I gotta prepare The Asset for a mission.” Steve lay Anabelle’s seemingly weightless body down onto a less than comfortable chaise, utterly **miffed** at the stunt Brock pulled. 

“What mission?” Jack raised a brow, as he glanced over at Anabelle, still perplexed as to why she was alive. 

“Fury.”

“Good luck with that, Cap.” Rumlow nodded, also fixating his gaze on the woman. 

“Eat _shit_,” Rogers mutters, running a hand through mussed hair as he turned on his heel. His stride in the opposite direction was purposeful and deadly. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Rollins questioned, averting his eyes towards Brock. He suspected there was a quarrel between the two, though if Rumlow did not want to reveal what happened, he had no intention of knowing.

On the contrary, Rumlow was happy to oblige him with the truth. “I cock-blocked him.” The words roll off his tongue with ease as he shrugs, a smirk plastered on his face. 

“_Explain_.” Now Jack’s interest had been **_piqued_**. He discerned that it had something to do with Anabelle for he did not miss the way Steve had been so kind to _gently_ lay her down. They’d all known that he’s been sweet on her ever since received his directive to shadow her. Perhaps it was because he was present for her birth. Little did either of them know that Anabelle and Steve had _slept_ _together_. 

“He was about to fuck the shit out of her in her car,” Brock shrugs, yet again, “I figured he would forget his orders, so I took matters in my own hands and tranqued her.” A low chuckle emitted from Rollins as he shook his head. 

“Damn, you got a _death_ _wish_ or something? I’m surprised he didn’t bash your skull in.”

“Oh believe me,” Rumlow moved to take a seat next to Jack, placing his weapons on the table before them, “He was about to. I had half a mind to just give ‘em an hour and let Rogers get it outta his system, but I decided against it.”

“Why? She means nothing to us,” Rollins’ brow furrowed, not seeing how this could have compromised the Captain as they let him have the other captive just three weeks prior. 

“Guess I just wanted to _fuck_ _with_ _him_.” Though Rumlow’s objective was true, he harbored hidden motives as he’d _also_ been sweet on Anabelle, though he didn’t let it show as prevalently as Steve. 

“So, how long is the little bitch gonna be out?”

“Eh, she’ll be unconscious for a few hours or so. I doped her up pretty good." 

* * *

**SERENITY**. The silence was welcoming and for once in a very long time, his mind wasn’t spinning from the numerous mind wipes that he’d been through. It truly has been a while since the last time Pierce ordered it and though his mission failed, he was given a chance to redeem himself with a second opportunity. Fury escaped the city, yes, however, he knew exactly where the director would be headed next as he was still under the impression that his comrade had remained ever loyal to his country and his righteousness. 

They both spotted Fury from the rooftop, as predicted, sneaking into Rogers’ apartment as he was aided by Sharon Carter and he took this as his cue to feign ignorance towards the infiltration of SHIELD. 

"On my signal, you take the shot,” Rogers nodded at his comrade. “Understood,” he responded before shrouding himself in shadow. Rogers descended the building and walked into his own, acting as if he did not know that the woman he’d conversed with was one of SHIELD’s best covert ops agents who was assigned to 'protect’ him. He wanted to vomit in his mouth at the idea of needing to be protected. 

The mission was successful as both he and The Asset were able to pull this off, and all went according to plan. Sharon 'revealed’ her identity to Rogers and he played the hero, chasing after his comrade. They both had disappeared and Sharon assumed that he was still in hot pursuit, though he did not return with an answer on what he’d seen. 

Her phone rang and she was quick to pick up, not knowing or caring who was on the other line. “Talk to me,” her tone was exasperated as she wished so desperately for answers. “Carter,” Natasha’s voice emitted, “I think Weber’s been compromised, STRIKE Delta Three informed me that she hasn’t arrived at the checkpoint.”

“Romanoff, we’ve got a bigger problem.”

“What’s that?” She hesitates, hoping that the news isn’t as grim as she thinks it might be. “Fury’s down, a sniper clipped him and I lost Rogers; he went after the shooter.”

“I’m on my way. Wait for backup, and when you get him out of there, secure Weber’s daughter. You got a pen on you?”

“Yeah give me a second,” As Sharon scoured Steve’s apartment for a pen and paper, agents flooded the room with paramedics. She willed herself to shut out the commotion as she informed Natasha she was ready to write.

“**4412 West Maple Drive.** It’s in Alexandria. Jillian Weber is her mother-in-law. The safe word is **NERO FORTE.**”

“I’m on it.” Sharon scribbled circles around the word to emphasize to herself that she should use that first before explaining anything to Jillian. _This was definitely going to be a long night._

* * *

The two soldiers returned ahead of schedule and Rumlow was surprised as both men had strolled past the security checkpoint. 

“Mission Report?” he asked hesitantly, regarding The Winter Soldier’s mission to assassinate Nick Fury. 

“Clean shot,” Rogers spoke, “I’m still on the comms, and they just pronounced him dead ten minutes ago.” He slips a hand through his damp hair. 

“You know that this is going to complicate things with SHIELD— People like her _dickhead_ husband are gonna go digging in places and find themselves dead,” Rollins sighed, thoughtfully as he crossed his arms. 

“That’s the _idea_.” Rumlow spoke, pacing throughout the room as he listened to the conversation, “You knew exactly what would happen after he got his hands on that data. It’d only be a matter of time befo—”

“I didn’t want it to be like this.” Steve muttered casting his gaze towards the still unconscious Anabelle, realizing that she didn’t have a place tangled in this mess. 

“Look, I get it. You respected the boss. I respected him too, but you gotta remember, this balances the order of things. He was a loose end.” Brock reasoned, gruffly, clearing his throat as he glanced at Anabelle again. “So, what do we do with _her_? She is not useful.” All eyes turned towards The Asset and his stoic features show slight vexation.

“We do what we’re ordered to do,” Rumlow answered after a moment of thought, although the importance of her presence was never fully explained, “We get intel from her, and go from there.”

“I doubt that Fury would have told her anything useful— he can barely trust Romanoff,” Rollins shrugs, “I don’t think he’d trust any intel with his one weakness.”

“Then what?” Steve asks, raising a brow. 

“As I said— we follow orders.” Rumlow answers, “As soon as she’s up, Jack will start the interrogation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally wasn't inspired by slipknot when I was remastering this chapter. nope. not at all.


	6. &. —— ❝ psychosocial ! ❞

Rollins sat in the corner of the room, carefully gloved fingers plucked at the hem of his long sleeve, completely content listening to Anabelle’s slow steady breaths from where she sat. He used zip ties to restrain her after thoroughly searching her and he wasn’t surprised by what she was packing. 

_Guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. _

After going through the motions of standard protocol, he sat down for a while, letting his eyes fall shut. Although he wished he had a cigarette, he settled for the deep and steady breaths he was taking already. The moment he heard her breathing falter, he pushed himself from his chair, letting his hands hang loosely by his sides as he canted his head and thoughtfully considered her.

“I know you’re awake,” he muttered, his tone clipped. She cautiously lifted up her head, opening her eyes to take in her surroundings, blinking slowly. Her head was throbbing and the sensitivity to light and sound were not helping at all. She tried to bring her hand up to her forehead in order to soothe the dull pain in her cranium but to no avail. For a short time, she struggled against her restraints, causing her chair to shift around a bit, then her mind focused on her unfamiliar surroundings; this building was utterly filthy, and she took note of the dried bloodstains that decorated the walls. As her eyes continued to make an assessment of where she was, she spotted a figure, shrouded in the shadows.

“Steve?” She calls as he was the last person she’d seen, though, quickly she is proven to be mistaken as it was Agent Rollins instead. He ignores her and instead blinks, clasping his hands at the small of his back in a relaxed form of parade rest. 

“Where is Anderson?”

“—What?” His question was beginning to register in her mind within moments; her expression contorted and she closed her eyes, wondering if he **REALLY** expected her to know. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in **WEEKS**. 

“I-I don’t know— ” He frowns and slowly steps forward, eyes narrowing in on her as he ignored her question. 

“You **DO** know, ”he says, voice carefully void of emotion despite the agitation he feels rushing through his veins. He steps out further until he’s directly in front of her and then leans down to brace his hands against the backrest of the chair, making him eye level with her. 

“You **WILL** tell me, Anabelle. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will **NOT** hesitate to.” He pauses, a tic in his jaw jumping before continuing, “Now, **WHERE** is he?” She flinched at the rough sound of his voice. He didn’t have to show his irritation with her refusal to cooperate physically, it was evident in the look in his **EYES** and Anabelle was entranced by his darkened features. 

“I **DON’T** know! Why are you doing this, Jack?” Her voice gradually became shakier as she fought tears. With all the training, nothing could have prepared her for being put in this position by someone she **TRUSTED**. Little did he know, this was all but a **RUSE**. 

He can tell she’s telling the truth— or at least, she was convincing _enough_; but he still can’t let her go now. Not _yet_, anyway. Ignoring her question **AGAIN**, He blows out a slow breath through his nose to calm his nerves, pushing up and away from her. He thinks she may have other information, not just about Anderson. 

Maybe daddy filled her in on more intel for _Insight_ perhaps? He glances over his shoulder to a chair on the other side of the room and he walks over, dragging it until it’s a few feet in front of her. 

“We’re going to have a little chat,” he says finally, settling heavily in the chair, hooking an ankle over his knee. “You have any siblings, Anabelle?”

“You already know that I don’t.” She lies straight through her teeth, obeying the orders to not reveal anything about her twin brother Andrew, regardless of his incarceration. “Are you **SURE** about that?”

“I-I—” Was it really worth it to confess that Andrew was her brother? Hardly anyone knew that she was Fury’s daughter, considering that she kept her husband’s surname even after he passed for the sake of her **DAUGHTER**. Before she could give him her final answer, though, she felt her breaths become erratic, as the stress that she was experiencing was becoming overwhelming. Sweat beaded along her hairline and her eyes fluttered closed as her jaw clenched. Natasha taught her how to fake a panic attack for the purpose of offense. 

She did her best to not over dramatize as she waited for him to approach. He could hear her breathing kick up a notch, heavy breaths leaving through her nose in quick succession. Before he could stop himself, he slides to kneel in front of her on the floor, reaching out to brace a hand on her chest. He pushes her back lightly until she’s flushed against the chair cushion, “Anabelle, you need to breathe. In, ” he inhales, blue eyes holding her gaze as his chest expands, “and out,” he exhales. His face is mere inches from hers as he shows this _ounce_ of sympathy. 

At the last moment, though she had her chance, she reconsidered the attack, calculating that she could pull information from him as she feigns ignorance. The more she knew about why her own comrades decided to capture her, the better and she knew that her father would not set up a training simulation without any sort of agenda, regardless of how much he liked to compartmentalize. 

Another dead giveaway that this had not been anything her father organized is the classified information regarding Anderson. Had she not been involved with him personally, Nick would never have brought him to her attention and she knew this. It took her a few moments to ‘regain control’ of her breathing, clutching the armrest of the chair she was in with her small hands. She inhaled through her nose, taking as long as she needed to before exhaling, repeating the action several times before her heart rate began to slow to close to normal. Her eyes fluttered closed with every fresh, calm breath she drew and when she felt relaxed enough, she opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze once more. 

Satisfied once her heart wasn’t hammering against his hand he leans back onto the balls of his feet, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together. He knows why he helped her, but he’s not entirely thrilled with himself for it. With an annoyed huff, he straightens from his crouch and plops back down into his own seat. “Don’t **THANK** me, ” he snaps out a little harshly when he sees her open her mouth. _I wasn’t going to. _

She sat back in her chair and stayed silent, knowing that it was best to keep her mouth shut before he could do any harm to her. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, the only thing breaking the silence was the sound of both of their breathing. Finally, he sighs, tilting his head to the side and regards her with a slightly troubled look. “Ana, I don’t want to hurt you— in fact, I’m not supposed to.” He reaches to his side, unclipping a clasp and pulls out a large knife. He runs the tips of his fingers over the back of the blade, his eyes flickering between her and the knife. 

“But you have intel we need; information you may not know you have, but you do. If you refuse to cooperate, I will be forced to use alternate methods and neither you nor I want to escalate to that point.” 

_We? Who was Rollins working with?_

“What could I possibly tell you? I work in **RECORDS**, Jack. Everything I know, you know.” Her tone is nonchalant, almost condescending as she raises a brow at him. He leans back just a tad, keeping his gaze fixated on her face to see if her expression would betray any lies on her tongue. 

“You know **SOMETHING**,” he says, keeping his voice soft but forceful, canting his head to the side, “Why don’t we start with your relocation that Fury was putting together?”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ Her answer is quick and he doesn’t miss the way the corner of her mouth slightly perks into a smirk. 

“Stop bullshitting me.” His patience is wearing thin at her lack of answers. 

“I’m not bullshitting you,” Her tone stays laced with arrogance and her brow raises in her defiance. She’s enjoying this game of cat and mouse just to see what he’ll do. He was always known to have a short temper and when triggered, he was sloppy. 

“**CUT THE SHIT**!“ The sound of flesh hitting flesh resonated in the air. He’d lost control for but a moment, realizing that he’d just smacked the woman. 

“**FUCK YOU**,” It was out of reflex from being smacked and her cheek radiated with stinging heat. He stands up abruptly, the chair clattering to the floor behind him and he’s over her in a heartbeat. 

He strikes her again **HARD, this time **with a _closed_ fist and the sound of his fist meeting the flesh of her cheek where he’d struck her just seconds ago emits a **_(_** crack ! **_)_** and the sound echoes off the walls of the small room. She turns her head with an eerie smile, blood coating her teeth before she spits in his face. 

Meanwhile, Rumlow and another Hydra operative by the name of Dmitri Lavrov observe the interrogation behind the two way glass, and as he’d expected, Rollins lost his temper. **AGAIN**. 

"Fuckin’ Rollins— If he could keep his cool for _five_ _fucking_ _minutes_, we’d have something useful.” Lavrov shakes his head, rubbing his temples. 

“_Fuck_ _it_, I’m going in,” Brock decides to intervene before Rollins starts beating the woman to a bloody pulp and he wastes no time pushing the door open quickly as she spit in his face. Rollins growls, locking his gaze onto her with murderous intent before he lunges towards her, hands shot out to clench around her throat. The chair topples over as he throws all his weight into her and she hits the back of her head on the tile. 

"You little fucking bitch!“ In an instant, both Lavrov and Brock are sprinting towards the man, pulling him away from her, though they struggled as he thrashed about, trying to break free so that he could continue to choke the life out of her. 

"Keep pushing me, **BITCH** and I’ll make sure you don’t wake up again!" 

"Get him out of here,” Rumlow exhaled as they dragged the angered man to the doorway and Lavrov complied leaving Rumlow and Anabelle in the room alone. He makes quick work to pull her back up and as she was still restrained to the chair, he briefly considered whether he should take the initiative to cut her zip ties and after a moment of pondering, he does.

“You’ve really got a _death_ _wish_, Weber.” he chuckles, sitting down in the chair that remained a few feet from her, “Now you wanna tell me why you were relocating?” Rumlow slings his ankle over his knee, taking a comfortable seated position as he crosses his arms.

_Rollins **AND** Rumlow are in on this? What the hell is going on with SHIELD?_

“I’m not tellin’ you shit.” She exhales her answer, still ever defiant as her tone said 'do your worst.' 

_ **Challenge accepted. ** _


	7. &. —— ❝ duality ! ❞

The sound of bubbles emitted from the water as he held her by her scalp, not caring that her nose was rammed against the porcelain of the toilet. As much as he wanted to just **WATERBOARD** her, he couldn’t bring himself to subject her to that level of torture. **YET**. 

Her snark had pressed him to this point and though he couldn’t fault her for her actions as Natasha had taught her this interrogation technique, he still was at his **_maximum_** level of aggravation. He’d removed the restraints from her wrists to free her from the chair in an attempt to have a cordial conversation with her, however, she subjected him to a flurry of attacks, scratching a bit of skin off his face in the process as well as pulling a chunk of his hair out. 

That was admittedly his **_own_** fault. She flailed, trying to push him away and pull her head out of the water simultaneously, but to no avail as he just pressed down on her head harder. Her body jerked and before she sucked in too much water, he pulled her head up, fingers still clutching her hair by its roots and she immediately gasped, greedily taking in as much oxygen as possible, but at the same time coughing up water. 

“Had enough?” he growls, knowing full and well that he was going to dunk her for the second time. “Please,” she sputtered, giving up the facade, “I don’t know anything. Fury called me into his office just to set up my relocation for an assignment. That’s it, I swear!”

“I believe you.” the words fall past his lips after a moment of ponderance as he considers her words. And just as quickly as he pulled her from the water, he pushed her back down, hearing a feeble **NO** coming from beneath the surface.

Thirty seconds pass before he pulls her back up and gruffly shoves her to the tiled floor, not caring that he’d almost drowned her again, before glancing in the dusky and cracked mirror in front of him. He takes the time to run his own fingers through his hair, fixing the strands that have been displaced from the scuffle from earlier before he throws her a rag. “Clean yourself up. You have **_five_** minutes.” 

He leaves her in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and she quickly looks around, assessing her surroundings to see if there was a way out. Her gaze eventually falls on a small window just above the toilet and she is thankful that she can reach it, despite her short stature. 

_I **KNOW** I’m small enough to fit through it. _

Although she didn’t know where she was, as long as there was a car, she knew she could get as far away from the facility as possible, and that sure as hell was a **START**. She ran the water in the sink to mask sound and without a second thought, she moved towards the window, feeling the cool spring air venting through the glass. The woman stepped up on the commode of the toilet, carefully calculating her moves as she did not want to draw any attention to herself. Nimble fingers braced against the sill of the frame before she lifted up the window lock and it emitted a barely audible click before pulling the glass to the left allowing more of the cool air to rush in. 

With the little upper body strength that she had, Anabelle pulled herself up, barely getting an arm out of the window in order to shimmy herself through the tiny entryway. He’s silent, picking at the dirt around his fingernails while he waits. It was only three minutes, but he decided that he’s waited long enough 

“Time’s up!” he calls out, pausing. She managed to get her upper torso out, but the more she struggled to get out, the more sound she made as she grunted, “What’s the hold-up, sweetheart?” His voice was closer as he knocked loudly using the butt of his gun. The sound of the knock surprised her and she gasped audibly before panicking, struggling harder to get out. She began to kick her feet, flailing slightly in a feeble attempt to speed up the process, feeling the metal threshold dig into her rib cage. Her palms finally found themselves flush against the stucco and she pressed down hard in order to force her lower half out, however, the process was not as smooth as she initially hoped; the lock on the window had caught the fibers of her trousers, making it much more difficult. 

“**COME ON**!” the words slipped out with exasperation as she pushed down on the surface harder. 

Brock’s ears perked when he could hear the sound of her struggling and without any hesitation, he rammed his shoulder into the door with brute force. As the door flew open, his eyes fixed on her lower half, feet kicking. He seethes with rage, feeling his chest tighten and he’s on her in an instant; his hand braces against her hips in a vice grip before he pulls her back into the room in one fluid motion, sending her barreling towards the wall. 

She falls on her backside, but not before her back hits the tile harshly, knocking the wind out of her. Anabelle slumps over, and her hands go for her chest as if she was trying to put the air back into her lungs with them. Brock’s warm honey gaze fixed on the disheveled woman and he can feel his upper lip curl up, nerves twitching beneath his skin. His fists clenched tightly and it took every fiber of his being not to smack her again when she turned around, her expression like a deer in headlights.

“Where you goin’ bitch?” She stared up at him as he towered over her, the fear filling her eyes once more. Anabelle pressed her back against the wall in order to create as much distance between herself and the STRIKE alpha as possible. He didn’t say a word, taking a step closer towards her before crouching down, face only inches away from hers. He brought a hand up to rest on the wall on the left side of her head, maintaining an intense expression, waiting for her hazel eyes to meet his. 

He moved his other hand to grip the flesh of her thin neck in his large hand, harshly, little by little feeling delighted by the panic in her eyes. The gasp that escaped her caused goosebumps to spread, and the effect intensified when she gripped his arm with her small hand. He pulled the knife back from the sheath and held it up towards her face, loosening his other hand holding her neck, just enough for a small gust of air to flow down her trachea as she was still pinned firmly against the wall. A dark smirk curled his lips and he brought the tip of the blade to her jaw and gently trailed it to her lips, nicking the skin of her cheek along the way.

“You think this is all a fuckin’ game, huh?” He taunted, letting his own lips curl when she winced. “Brock, let g—” She hardly had time to finish her sentence before he sliced her hand that was still gripping his with the serrated blade, then her forearm. A shriek ripped from her throat and her hand immediately retracted from his person. Just as she was distracted by the blood dripping down her arm, Rumlow replaced his grip from her neck to her hair, tugging harshly. 

Anabelle reacted, delivering a left hook to his face and just after her fist made an impact with his cheek, Brock snatched her wrist, before shoving her against the wall again. “You’re gonna regret that,” He spat before he headbutted her, knocking her out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole time I was writing the beginning of this chapter, I couldn't help thinking about "WHERE'S THE MONEY LEBOWSKI?"


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